The Heart That Hides (Regency Spies Book 2)

by April Munday

  His final two guests were engaged to one another. Miss Elizabeth Hamilton was Sophia’s closest friend and Peter Thwaite was a merchant from Lincolnshire who had expressed some interest in doing business with Carpenter.

  After Sophia had greeted Miss Hamilton, she sat next to Finch, who was momentarily free from the attentions of Lady Louise.

  “I am very pleased to see Elizabeth here.”

  “Yet not pleased enough to talk to her.”

  For a moment she was silent, then she said, “Your criticism is just.”

  Finch was contrite.

  “I hope my tone did not imply criticism. It was merely an observation, perhaps even a question as to whether or not Miss Hamilton’s presence is welcome to you.”

  “It is. John Warren’s is not.”

  “No. I can see that now. I had thought that, since his own preference for you was so clear that perhaps...”

  “I like John. I like him a lot. He is certainly someone of whom my parents would approve.”

  “But you do not.”

  “Not as a husband, no. My hopes lie elsewhere.”

  She glanced shyly at him.

  Finch could not allow the conversation to progress along those lines, for he had a very strong suspicion that those hopes lay with him.

  “And I was surprised to find Lady Louise here,” she said.

  “Were you? Really?”

  Sophia looked away. This time he had hurt her.

  “No, not really. But she is not the kind of woman...”

  “She is attractive and entertaining. Any man would be gratified by her interest in him.”

  “Other women do not like her.”

  “I am not a woman.”

  “I know.” She hesitated. “Mr Finch, please forgive me, but you deserve better.”

  How had they got here already, thought Finch.

  “My dearest Sophia,” said Finch gently, “I have had better. Emily was worth ten of any other woman I have met.”

  “That doesn’t mean that...”

  “Miss Sophia,” interrupted Lady Louise.

  “Miss Arbuthnot,” corrected Finch without thinking, furious with himself for having used Sophia’s name himself. He knew she would draw the wrong conclusion from it.

  “Miss Arbuthnot,” conceded Lady Louise, “Mr Warren and I need someone to settle an argument between us.”

  Finch looked at Sophia, who shook her head minutely.

  “Please take Miss Arbuthnot’s apologies to Mr Warren, but she is occupied for the moment.”

  The flash of anger was unmistakeable, but Lady Louise smiled and left them.

  “You are not entirely smitten, then.”

  Now it was Sophia’s turn to smile, but it was small and bitter.

  “Not entirely. Sophia… Miss Arbuthnot, we seem to be speaking more frankly than I had intended.”

  In the same way as he didn’t know how he had become so intimate with Lady Louise, he was at a loss to understand how he had become Sophia’s confidant.

  “And I, at least, am glad for it.”

  Finch hesitated, certain that he didn’t want to insult her, but more certain that he wanted to see more of her.

  “Then let me say this. I am very fond of you and should you ever need a friend, then let it be me, but there can be no more than that between us.”

  “I shall try to be worthy of your friendship.”

  Her voice was small and quiet.

  “I mean what I say. If you are in danger or trouble of any kind, please call on me, or if you want to spend a morning talking, or if something worries you...”

  “Lady Caroline once told me that you are a good man to have near in a crisis.”

  “All the better then, for now you know that it is not an empty offer.”

  “Thank you. I shall not call on it without need.”

  “That is the good thing about friendship, you may abuse it.”

  Finch had never before considered the idea of a friendship with a woman. The women in his life had, up to now, fulfilled their proper roles. Emily had been his wife, his sisters-in-law were his brothers’ wives, Lady Caroline had played the rôle of aunt and Meldon’s wife... Finch smiled. Yes, it was undoubtedly Lady Anna who had changed his view of women. Not quite a friend, but more than his friend’s wife, she had her own unique place in his life.

  Supper was announced and Finch took Lady Louise in.

  “If the evening is not in your honour,” he said as they passed through the door into the dining-room, “you may rest assured that the food is.”

  “It is French?”

  “As far as it can be these days, without committing treason. Not the wine, of course.”

  Unlike many gentlemen with his wealth, Finch refused to purchase goods that had been smuggled from France.

  “No,” she agreed, with an elegant grimace. “Our palates suffer all kinds of indignities thanks to the war.”

  “I have some very good port”

  “But it is not French.”

  There was nothing to be gained by saying that that was rather the point, so Finch held his tongue. Lady Louise pouted as she took her place.

  Finch had a very good cook and the food was plentiful and pleased his guests, even if his cellar was lacking French wine.

  As the meal went on, Finch noticed to his dismay, that John Warren was drinking more than he was eating. Since John was usually extremely controlled in public, this was worthy of note.

  Sophia, who was sitting next to John, had also noticed the uncharacteristic behaviour and was trying to encourage him to slow down. Finch managed to catch his eye and saw him blush. Good, he wasn’t so far gone as to forget himself completely. Finch didn’t want to tell the servants to keep the wine away from the young man, but he would, if necessary.

  “The food is excellent, Edmund,” said Mrs Carpenter. “May I send for the recipes?”

  “I shall have the recipes sent to you,” said Finch. It gave him great pleasure to accommodate friends of his father. Mrs Carpenter smiled her thanks.

  “That woman is very rude,” said Louise quietly.

  “She is a friend of my father’s and has known me all my life. When my mother died she was very kind to me and my brothers. We are much closer than her earlier formality might lead you to expect.”

  “You make excuses for her.”

  “I merely explain. I owe her a great deal... and her husband.”

  “And you are a man who pays his debts.”

  “One way or the other,” he said, his solution to his other problem suddenly clear.

  He glanced at Mrs Carpenter until he caught her eye, then at John.

  “Mr Warren,” Mrs Carpenter said, slightly more loudly than was necessary, “I have the honour of knowing your mother.”

  John and Sophia turned to her as one. John pushed his glass away, as if the reminder of his mother’s existence was a reminder of the self-restraint he appeared to have lost.

  “I was not aware of that, Mrs Carpenter.”

  “She is a very fine woman. She called upon Edmund, that is, Mr Finch, one afternoon when my husband and I were staying in this house two or three years ago. I never expected to have anything in common with the daughter of an earl, but I discovered that she is as proud of her children as I am of mine.”

  “My mother is overindulgent,” said John.

  To Finch’s relief his voice did not slur.

  “It seems Mrs Carpenter also knows how to pay her debts,” whispered Louise to Finch.

  “She is truly magnificent,” said Finch.

  He had an idea of what it had cost her to draw attention to herself in that way. She had seen a young man about to make a fool of himself and had jumped in to save him in the only way she knew.

  “Do you think so?”

  Finch looked at her.

  “Yes.”

  “Then she must be magnifique.”

  Louise smiled and, for once, there was nothing remotely seductive about it. It was moti
vated entirely by the enjoyment of a shared pleasure.

  “Miss Arbuthnot has been telling me about a new process you’ve been studying,” said Johnson from further down the table.

  “’Studying’ is perhaps going a bit far. Father sent me to meet someone. I know just enough about making glass to understand the process they’ve been working on. I’m not sure if we can make it work here, but I’m drawing up some plans to show my father in a few weeks.”

  Johnson knew that Finch knew a great deal about the manufacture of glass, but he also seemed to accept that he didn’t put too much effort into learning more. Every time he visited the house Finch had to remember to put all his books and papers back into the library, lest he destroy the illusion.

  “I’d be glad to see them and give any assistance I can.”

  “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

  They made the appointment and Finch was pleased that his purpose in inviting Johnson here was fulfilled. The new process was his own invention, something he’d been working on for some time. He knew it would work, but he needed Johnson’s input to make it work in a manufactory.

  Mrs Carpenter was still talking to John, who was beginning to look a little better and Sophia was talking to Mrs Johnson about something that seemed to give neither of them much pleasure. Carpenter turned to Johnson and began another discussion about the best way to maintain a certain type of machine.

  Feeling that he had fulfilled his duties as a host, he turned back to Louise. She really was extremely beautiful.

  “You are staring at me, Mr Finch.”

  Even her voice was beautiful.

  “I’m sure I’m not the first man to do so.”

  “No, but few do it so openly, or with such intensity.”

  “I like to give my full attention to whatever I’m doing.”

  This was a lie, for he had been frightened by the apparent loss of his observational skills and was doing all that he could to be aware of what was happening elsewhere in the room. He was improving, but he had never had to work at it quite as hard before.

  “And you like what you see.”

  It was not a question, but the statement of a supremely self-assured woman.

  “I like what I see,” he echoed.

  “As do I. You were not, I think, aware of the attention you were receiving at Lady Caroline’s ball. You are a man of great modesty.”

  Finch had the increasingly familiar feeling of being wrong-footed. Not only had he not noticed this, but he had been under the impression that no woman at the ball had shown any interest in him at all apart from Lady Louise. The knowledge that he was missing so much that he should have noticed was more than distressing.

  “I cannot help my features,” he said, “so I cannot be proud of them.”

  “What are you proud of?”

  He didn’t even have to think about his answer.

  “My son and my ability to make money.”

  She did not have to know about the other skills that made many of General Warren’s operatives seek him out as their partner in their activities. In many ways he was more proud of these than of being able to make money, for making money was easy; being a good spy was much more difficult.

  “Most men would not boast of that.”

  “I am not ashamed that I know how to make money, or that I owe my wealth to trade. My father and my grandfather worked hard and took risks. They employed many people and kept them from starving. And our employees are well-treated and well-paid, even in the bad times. Quakers have a duty towards those they employ.”

  “What is a Quaker?”

  Finch opened his mouth to explain, then thought for a moment.

  “We’re Non-conformists, not members of the Church of England.”

  That seemed to satisfy her.

  “Your father and your grandfather worked hard, but you…?”

  “My father still runs the manufactories, so he has no need of me there.”

  “But you travel to learn new processes. You are not completely idle.”

  “Not completely, but I prefer supper parties and balls.”

  Not even his brothers knew how much he did and how successful he had been. Thanks to him they lived in a much grander style than he did and did not pretend to work. It would be time to tell them when he became head of the family; for he was happy enough to be thought idle and stupid by all except his father for now.

  “A man should have an interest,” she said.

  “And I’m interested in you.”

  “There is nothing to me,” she insisted.

  “There is more to everyone than meets the eye,” he said.

  She tapped his forearm lightly with her fingertips.

  “Then I shall leave it to you to find out what it is.”

  After supper Finch asked Sophia to sing for them, while John played. Then John sang something unaccompanied. Mrs Johnson sang with reluctance, timidly at first, but with increasing confidence. Finch had never heard her sing so well. When asked, Louise protested that she neither sang nor played well enough to entertain and, when she was finally persuaded to take her place at the instrument, demonstrated that she had not lied.

  Her voice was not unpleasant; it was skill that was lacking. To Finch it seemed not quite fully formed. He had to strain to hear the words and noticed that she did not always sing in tune. Nor did she play well. Her long and elegant fingers were not very agile on the keys and there were too many wrong notes for the performance to be pleasurable. All of this could have been forgiven, however, if she had carried it off with style, but this was as lacking as talent. He was disappointed.

  Louise finished singing and her audience clapped politely. She looked sadly at Finch, who smiled in return; not every woman could be accomplished in everything. Louise danced wonderfully; perhaps she could draw or paint.

  “I did tell you that it would not be entertaining,” Louise said as she took a seat next to Finch.

  “If you wish, I will not ask you to play again.”

  “I think that would be better.”

  This was not the answer he had hoped for. It seemed to him that she should have promised to practise until she had achieved more proficiency.

  “Although it was pleasant to have a good excuse to look at you for a long period of time and to be able to admire you openly.”

  Impulsively she reached out and touched his hand.

  “You know that you may come to my house at any time to do that.”

  “Then I shall do so very soon.”

  Louise claimed his attention for the rest of the evening and he was not sorry. She seemed to know when he wanted to talk and when he wanted to be silent. Somehow she managed to keep his other guests at arm’s length without being rude to them.

  As the other guests began to leave, it seemed natural that she should linger. Sophia also remained, but she went into the garden as John was saying his farewells. Finch was glad to see that he was leaving with the Carpenters, who, Carpenter had assured him quietly, would ensure that he got home without any further trouble. It was unlikely that John would drink any more tonight, for he seemed to have come to his senses, but still Finch was glad that someone was watching out for him.

  “Miss Arbuthnot is in the garden,” said Louise when he returned to her.

  “And she will have the good sense to remain there while I say goodnight to you.”

  “You send me away?”

  “For the moment.”

  Finch raised his hand and drew a finger slowly from her shoulder down her bare arm. He was gratified to see the shiver this elicited from her.

  “Englishmen are so slow at this type of thing.”

  “Do you think so? I believe there are men who can bed a woman five minutes after being introduced.”

  He was disappointed, but not surprised to see that she didn’t blush. It was not the kind of talk that came naturally to him, but she seemed to enjoy it.

  “It is a shame you are not one of them.”

&nb
sp; Now he was embarrassed and knew that he blushed.

  She placed a hand on his chest and he knew that his heart beat faster.

  “I have always believed that anticipation heightens the pleasure,” he said.

  Finch had heard someone say this once. He had no idea whether or not it was true, but it would go some way towards explaining his behaviour if she accepted it.

  “Too much anticipation and the pleasure might not be there to be taken anymore.”

  “Perhaps you wish a demonstration of good faith.”

  Her eyes darkened and Finch knew she would wait a while longer.

  “Are our farewells always to be more pleasurable than our greetings?”

  So, it had wounded her that he had not kissed her earlier. For answer he took her into his arms and kissed her.

  With a happy sigh, she gave herself up to him. Finch was pleased that he had won the battle this easily. She had already learned to give way to him. It was only just that he should give her what she wanted in return. He waited until she was completely relaxed, then began to place delicate kisses along her jaw line and down her neck. Unexpectedly she giggled, but she was completely focused again as he returned to her lips. She wound her fingers in his hair.

  “So, you like to be kissed,” he whispered as he kissed her cheek and under her ear.

  “I like to be kissed by you,” she corrected breathlessly. “You’re very good at it.”

  Finch could feel her breasts pushing at him with each breath. Resolving to be careful, he pressed his lips to hers one last time. When he released her, he was a little breathless himself.

  “Now, I will go,” she said, “for I see you value obedience above all else in a woman.”

  “Not obedience, never that. I want to be the one to please you.”

  “And you do, so very much.”

  She smiled as he led her out to her carriage.

  It was slightly cooler in the garden, but Finch didn’t think Sophia had come out here for that reason. He was almost unbearably tired; it had cost him a great deal to act as peacemaker between his guests and he wanted nothing more than to look into the nursery to see Freddie and then get into his own bed. If he had to have a recalcitrant guest, however, he was glad that it was Sophia. As soon as she knew that she was hurting him she would leave.

  He was not surprised to find her waiting in the gazebo. Sophia was standing and looking up at the stars.